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[More mushy nostalgia brought on by our Tenth Anniversary. I started this post yesterday, but it kind of derailed. So I’m reworking it in the honor of NaBloPoMo.]

A confession: I have only dated one man whom I didn’t meet online. I say online in italics, because what that means in 2007 is a very different thing from what it meant in 2002, when my friends James and Daniel said I should get a modem and sign up for this local bbs called Anarchy X because it was really cool and you chat with people from all over San Diego. Yes. I’m an old school geek who knows what a baud rate is and I remember the glorious day I bought my first Mac (in 1996) and left my crappy, DOS-based, IBM Ps1 with 2400 baud behind, and stood amazed as text pages loaded at one time (not a line-at-a-time) atthe blazingly-fast speed of 28.8. In case you’re wondering, 28.8 is less-than half as fast as the painfully-slow 56K modem you’d use for dial up these days (Wait? Dial up? People still use dial up? And they manage to keep breathing and everything?).

But this post is not about my geek cred. I’m just prone tangents, especially when I wax nostalgic.I was beginning to tell you that in my short dating life, I’ve (Should that be “I’d?” And what is up with my interior monologue thing, today?) only dated guys that I met online. The reason for this is quite simple. It’s the only place I could meet someone. I’m just not the kind of chick that guys ask out. I won’t go all moody and tell you it’s because I’m fat, or ugly, or because I spent much of my school life being the only dark-skinned face amongst a sea of white kids…I simply have never been asked out by anyone who met me in person first. And, aside from 50+-year-old men on the bus, I’ve never even been on. Guys just don’t see me that way. So I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not on the prowl.

When I awoke on Halloween morning last year I was anxious. My period was officially one day late and that meant it was officially acceptable for me to throw on some clothes, rush to Albertsons, and ask the pharmacist for the key to locked cabinet which held expensive and frequently-shoplifted items like blood pressure monitors, diabetes supplies, and pregnancy tests.

The trip to the store was somewhat unusual. For years I had kept a regular supply of pregnancy tests under my bathroom sink. I’m not in a place where I can explore the full story with you. Every relationship has its dangerous third rail, that place where you are both so terrified to go, you whisper about it, or speak of it as That Thing That Shall Not Be Named. Expanding our family beyond the tight bond of two people was one such topic for us. And for years we had been meticulously tracking all activity surrounding my fertility in an effort to avoid pregnancy. Only couples who are trying to conceive are more aware of their ovulation window than we have been for years.

[Read Heather’s post before reading mine. It’s a little long, but I promise it will make more sense that way.]

When I read this post a few years ago, I was taken by Heather’s raw and earnest description of what real long-term partnership looks like. So many of us mistakenly believe that it involves receiving 10 karat tennis bracelets for our anniversary, or taking expensive vacations. These material items are nice, but they tell you nothing about how much you are loved.

When someone loves you, they jump in the fox hole with you. They’re there to cling to when you are most vulnerable. They clean up your mess.Continue reading →

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